


The After-Party

by chuck_nobs



Category: Fake News RPF, The Late Show with Stephen Colbert (TV)
Genre: Moderate drinking, Multi, Wifeless AU, gender neutral reader, nothing happens for like three chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23732113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuck_nobs/pseuds/chuck_nobs
Summary: You're a new writer on the show, and have trouble fitting in at Stephen's Emmy party. After leaving, you find yourself in his company. A few drinks and an unexpected swim kick things off, and the best possible chaos ensues.
Relationships: Stephen Colbert/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I started this in 2017 (back when Stephen hosted) and finally figured I'd upload it. This starts out pretty slow but things happen eventually. Also, this is (obviously) a work of fiction and not related to any real events/actions/thoughts experienced by any real person.

The bright lights of the room blind you as you enter the hotel. The first thing you see are about 30 tables, all elegantly dressed in white cloth, with gold borders around the edges. At each table setting, there’s a large plate, and at the center is a delicate candle which has been sculpted to look like a bouquet of flowers. 

There is little use for candles in a place like this. The ceiling, you notice as you look up, is peppered with chandeliers. They’re all shimmering, and each prism seems to glimmer with every breath you take. It’s the prettiest room you’ve ever seen. A man in a tuxedo brushes past you and calls to someone across the room, pulling you out of the mesmerizing spectacle and back into reality. 

You suddenly realize that you must look like an idiot, staring up at the ceiling like it’s the first time in your life that you’ve seen light. You also notice, much to your horror, that most people have taken their seats, and are already starting discussions. 

Standing awkwardly at the entrance for what seems like eternity, you try to decide where to sit. Most of the tables are full, and all with people you’ve barely spoken to. There’s an open chair to your right, but you don’t recognize most of the people seated. Still, it’s the only option you have, so you walk over quickly and sit down. 

Jen, the only person you do know, smiles as you take your seat. The others don’t acknowledge you. Everyone is talking animatedly, which makes you smile. Even though the team had lost, people were still bubbly and cheerful. You know most of that is thanks to Stephen. He’s always there to bring everyone up, brighten their days. 

Thinking of him, you look around to see where he’s sitting. You spot him about three tables away, in the center, a huge crowd around him. People passing all pat him on the shoulders in congratulation. He responds with a ‘thank you’ and the warmest smile. You wish more than anything that you had been invited to sit with him as you turn around and stare down at the large white plate in front of you. 

It’s not long before food is served, and as dinner finishes, the guests begin to get up and walk around. There is a drink to the side of your plate that you ordered an hour ago and still have not touched, but you grab it anyway and decide that you should get up and attempt to socialize. 

You smile at people as they walk past. All dressed in crisp black and white tuxedos and sequined dresses that glint and come to life under the chandeliers. You look down at what you’re wearing, and a feeling of inferiority washes over you. You had hoped that once you’d arrived, everything would magically fall into place. That all the awkwardness that you’d carried with you throughout the few short months working at the show would disappear. 

Instead, you continue to stand alone a few feet from your seat, a full glass of whiskey clutched in your right hand. Unsure of what to do with your left, it just hangs at your side. Normally, you are a fair amount more talkative, but you still can’t seem to shake the feeling that you are a fraud and shouldn’t be here. At the Emmys? Working for Stephen Colbert? Funny people are supposed to do this kind of stuff. Truly funny people. 

From across the room, the chime of a fork on a glass rings out. All heads turn toward the sound, and it’s Stephen, who climbs up onto the table, the lights making the buttons on his cuffs glint as he raises his glass.

“Everyone having a good time?” he asks, and a cheer erupts around you. A smile plays on his lips. “I’m glad. Look, fuck the Emmys.” he says, and everyone cheers in agreement. Stephen laughs and swirls his drink. “I’d rather lose with all of you than win with anyone else. You guys are the best team I could’ve asked for. Each one of you is fucking amazing, and you’ve more than earned your right to be here tonight.” 

Thunderous applause follows, and he tips his glass into his mouth, finishing it’s amber-colored contents in one gulp. “I don’t wanna be up here talking all night— everyone have fun!” 

The room erupts into cheers again, and Stephen hops off the table. He stumbles a little as he lands on the ground, and you duck your head to hide a smile. The volume gradually raises again as conversations resume. You try to see where Stephen is, but he has already been swallowed by the crowd. A feeling of sadness and disappointment tugs at your heart. You really wanted to personally thank him for the honor it's been to work on the show and attend the Emmys. It only lasts for a brief moment though, and is soon replaced by the same anxiety from earlier. You need to find a group of people to talk to so you look like you have some semblance of belonging. 

You see Ariel talking to Opus a few feet away, and decide to join them. You’ve spoken with Ariel quite a bit, but Opus is part of the head writing team so you don’t work in the same room as him, save in the meetings. You congratulate them as you walk up. 

“Give yourself some credit too!” Ariel says. 

Opus laughs. “Yeah, we ALL lost!” 

They start talking about the insanity of live shows, which you can’t relate to too much, as you’ve only been a part of one thus far. You drift in and out of the discussion. It’s hard to concentrate when you notice Stephen a few feet away. He is bounding from group to group, a huge grin on his face. He hugs people, pats them on the back, shakes hands. 

As he moves through the room, it’s evident that his goal is to personally thank every single person there.  _ God, he’s so sweet  _ you think, oblivious to that fact that you’re literally staring him down as two other people try to hold a conversation with you. As you watch Stephen embrace Jon Batiste, a hand waves in front of your face. 

You turn to see Ariel smiling quizzically at you. “Are uh…you still with us?” She laughs, and you try to chuckle along with them, but you can feel yourself blushing.  _ Play it off, play it off.  _

“Yes! I’m fine, sorry! Just wondering if I locked my car or not, actually.”  _ Real smooth.  _

“Oh, that’s the worst.” Ariel nods

“I hate that feeling!” Opus agrees.

“Yeah...you know what? I should probably go outside and check, otherwise I won’t be able to think about anything else this whole night.” 

You walk out of the building quietly, but not before stopping at the bar and filling your drink up even more. The large glass door swings open, and you are grateful for the cool September night air, hoping it will quell the flushing in your cheeks. As your eyes adjust from the brightness inside, you notice the beach starts right across the road. There’s a small dock just in front of the hotel which stretches out onto the ocean.

You figure it’s best you stay out for a little bit so there’s time for your face to return to normal. You don’t actually have a car to check on, you were driven to the place from the ceremony. The street is empty with a slight breeze in the air. It smells slightly of salt. You take a large swig from your drink before crossing the wide street and starting toward the dock. 

You’re still amazed that there’s no one around as you step onto the wooden planks. As you approach the end, you kick your shoes off and set them by the last post that extends down into the dark water. You take another gulp of whiskey and sit down on the edge of the dock. There is a full moon out and it casts a dim silver streak onto the ocean. It’s very calm. You exhale and stare down at your legs which dangle over the side. You set the drink down on top of a post. 

“Why can’t I be normal?” you demand to the darkness. “ _God_ , I should not have done that.” 

“Done what?” A voice behind you asks. Startled, you lose your balance and start to tip towards the water. You feel someone grab you and pull you back up so you’re no longer teetering towards the ocean. 

“Thank you so much I don’t—” You look up at the face of your hero and find yourself staring straight into Stephen’s eyes. Your heartbeat skyrockets. You’re very aware of his hands around your shoulders as you lay across his knees. He looks down at you, concerned. You think you’ve stopped breathing. 

“Are you alright? I didn’t mean to startle you! I’m sorry—” Stephen apologizes, but his arms remain around you, supporting you. 

“Oh my God! What? No! You’re fine!  _ I’m  _ sorry. Shouldn’t you be at the hotel? Why are you here—”

“Woah, woah!” Stephen laughs, gently pulling you up further. “Take a deep breath! I can leave if you want, did I disturb you or something?” 

“No, I’m fine! Please don’t leave, I mean—shit.” You can’t face Stephen’s eyes or you’re positive you’ll melt right between the boards, dripping into the ocean. Instead you reach to the side and retrieve your drink, suddenly eager to get absolutely hammered if it means you’ll be able to relax enough so you can make a coherent sentence. 

Your hands are shaking badly but you do manage to down the entire glass you’d been carrying around all night. You shyly turn your head to face Stephen again. He’s looking at you bewildered. 

“Your hands are shaking...are you okay? Are you cold?” You’re unable to respond, too stunned by his words and the feeling of his hands around you. Internally, you 

curse him for being the biggest sweetheart. 

“I’m alright, really. You just startled me is all.” You muster the courage to smile up at him. He smiles back at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his mouth open just the slightest bit. Your heart races even faster. He’s so close to you, you want to kiss him. Want to run your fingers gently through his hair and feel his hands on the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry if I startled you.” He says, and removes his hold on you. “But I do have to ask—what  _ are _ you doing here all by yourself?” He pulls his knees into his chest and stares out at the dark horizon. “I mean it is very pretty out, but wouldn’t you like to be inside with everyone? People miss you, I miss you. Your presence—or lack  thereof—is noticed.” 

You turn to him again. “You uh...you miss me?” You can start to sense the alcohol hitting your nerves a bit. You’re slightly more at ease now, but getting increasingly dizzy. Though you aren’t sure if that’s the whiskey or the close proximity to Stephen. He'd always had that effect on you. He smiles reassuringly. 

“Well, of course! We all miss you! Who doesn’t want to hear one of your many stories?” You’re positive your whole face is bright red and you hide your expression, grinning wider than you have in your whole life. You’re so elated, you could fly up into the cloudless sky right this instant if you wanted to. But you don’t. You want to stay here. Forever. With him. And you know he’s probably said these things to everyone on the staff, but to hear him say it means the world. It’s enough to make you blush like crazy. 

“Th-thank you very much, Stephen. That means a lot. I didn’t leave the party because I wasn’t having a good time, I just needed to step out for a second is all. I was going to come back. I just got caught up.”

“I understand.” He says, quieter than he’d spoken previously. You look at him, but he’s staring out at the dark horizon. “Sometimes it gets overwhelming.” You don’t know how to respond, and get quickly distracted admiring him. The thin grey streaks in his hair catch the moonlight making his hair sparkle. He’s recently gotten it cut, which makes you sad, because you think he looks best when he has it a few inches longer on top. Then it flops a bit when he jumps around on stage, a huge grin on his face. Your gaze travels down to his shoulders, which are framed perfectly in his tuxedo. You picture yourself wrapping your arms around him, kissing his neck, his hot breath on your skin. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks softly. 

“You.” Shit. Wide-eyed, you turn to look at him. He’s staring at you, but your inebriated brain can’t figure out what he’s thinking, much less read his expression. “I’m going to go back now” you mutter, and try to stand up quickly. 

“Wait, you can’t just—” He gets up and reaches towards you. Panicked, you step away, but overestimate the length of the dock and slip. You try to catch yourself, but your reactions are too sluggish. As you fall, you catch his eyes, shock plastered across his face. His arm is outstretched in an attempt to catch you, but it falls short this time. You plummet to the black ocean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September is the best time of year for a swim.

You scream for a second before you hit the water. The cold ocean is a sobering shock to your system. When you surface, you hear a splash next to you, and instantly try to distance yourself from whatever it is. You try to start swimming as fast as you can in the other direction, but something grabs at you. You try to free yourself,  but only when you hear a voice do you realize it’s Stephen. 

“Hey. Hey! It’s ok!” Embarrassed out of your mind, you start to swim faster. Just seconds ago you wanted to throw yourself onto him, now you want to be as far away as possible. 

The shore is quite a ways away. You are out further than the break, and the water is cold and dark. You shudder to think of what’s lurking underneath. Swim. You have to swim. You start kicking towards the beach, but hear Stephen’s voice behind you again. 

“Wait!” You turn to look. Stupid. Now you can’t possibly keep going after acknowledging his presence. You curse yourself and decide to wait for him, treading your legs and glancing nervously around at the dark surface. Your heart is going a mile a minute inside of your chest. Any second now, you expect it to break out of your ribcage and soar into the sky. 

Stephen finally reaches you, gliding to a stop in the water. In the low light, he appears as a dark silhouette before you. Only his glasses reflect the moon and glint dimly. They are miraculously still on his face. 

“My—” he pauses to catch his breath, “God! You swam  _ fast _ ! ” You blush. Literally any comment he makes about you threatens to send you into cardiac arrest. He takes off his glasses and folds them into the inner pocket of his tuxedo. You search for some kind of excuse. 

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean any of that back there.” Stephen smiles. You’re surprised you can see it, actually. Your eyes must be adjusting. 

“No. I think you did.” he replies, still grinning. “Though I must confess, I didn’t know you were going to pick up on my desire to take a dip.” 

You shake your head. “Aw, get over yourself, Colbert.” 

He pretends to be horribly insulted and taken aback. “Get over  _ myself?  _ May I remind you that this is an incredibly expensive tuxedo that has now been  _ ruined  _ thanks to you!” He sticks his tongue out at you, and now you can’t help but giggle. 

“I’m—I’m actually so sorry… ” You trail off and focus on putting on a sincere face. “That was incredibly disrespectful and I hope you’ll forgive me.” You meet his eyes. It’s so hard not to break. You can tell he’s trying to decipher if you’re joking or not. Suddenly, his expression softens and he looks down at the water. 

“I hope you’ll forgive me, too.” he says quietly. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What? Why?” He looks up, a sly smile on his lips. 

“For this!” he shouts, and with the last word, thrusts his arms forward and sends a spray of water into your face. You shout in surprise and stare at him—open-mouthed, aghast. He’s laughing so hard, he’s having trouble staying afloat. His laughter is the most wonderful sound. It fills the air around you, ringing across the dark water and surrounding you with a feeling of warmth. 

“You—” you begin, but start to laugh yourself, “you are going to regret that, Colbert.” You lunge at him, sending a wave of seawater his way. He dives under before you can land a hit, though. Suddenly alone, you start whipping your head around, looking for him. “Stephen?” A bit tentatively at first. “Stephen?” Again, with a bit more concern. “Stephen are you alright?” Still nothing. “Steph—”

“Gotcha!” A voice from directly behind startles you and you shriek. You turn around and stare right into his face. He’s grinning—but he’s so close to you—so close—if you even flinched, you’d positively be tasting his smile. His eyebrows are raised, his rich eyes looking directly at you. You’re suddenly aware that you haven’t said anything, just stared at his lips intensely like a creep. You blink twice and throw on a smile. 

“You are so dead, Colbert. Just you wait mister, I will have my revenge!” 

“Mmmm, I don’t think so.” Stephen laughs as you turn and start to swim away from him. “Oh no you don’t.” He starts after you. And for a few minutes, that’s all you do. Swim in circles. Stephen always just a few feet behind. 

You can’t stop laughing. Maybe it’s the nerves, the giddiness, or just the alcohol. Whatever it is, you feel like a child. A joyful, careless child. And you know it’s him. You know it’s him and his effect on people. And you also know that he does this sort of thing with everyone. But he makes you feel special. He makes you feel like the only person in the world to have this much fun. And he makes you believe he’s grateful only to you. That incredibly wholesome and fulfilling gratitude that you receive through his laughter. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. And you don’t want the moment to end. 

But it does. 

You finally stop, exhausted. “Ok,” you gasp for breath, “you win.” 

He kicks forward until he’s right beside you. “Sorry excuse for a win.” he says. “You just gave up.”

“Well, I’m really sorry you feel like a loser.” you taunt, hoping he’ll take the bait. 

“What kind of gentleman would I be if  _ I  _ had given up first?” he jokes. You giggle. “Was it not much more appropriate to allow you to quit before me?” 

You roll your eyes. “Thank you for your sacrifice.” 

He opens his mouth in faked shock. “I was only trying to be a gentleman.” he pouts, making his lips and cheeks stick out in the most adorable way. 

“You are a gentleman.” you tell him without really thinking it through. Your soft tone makes it sound very serious. You look nervously at Stephen, searching his face for a reaction. He doesn't respond. The familiar panic sets in again. You haven’t disguised the compliment as a joke like you had been doing the entire night. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice too much. Though he does say “thank you” in a way that sounds very sincere to you, and looks directly into your eyes. Eager to break the contact lest you descend into a pit of pure lust, you suggest you go back. He looks at the dark shoreline. 

“We probably should. They’ll be wondering where we are.”

“Plus, there are sharks and stingrays.” You turn and look at him. His eyes go wide. 

“What the fuck?! You didn’t think of mentioning this  _ earlier _ ?” 

You smile at him. “Oh, don’t worry. Nothing’s gonna happen to you. Just stay off the bottom. That’s where the rays hang out.” 

Stephen looks uneasily into the darkness below, and visibly shudders. 

“Cold?” you ask, concerned. You don’t want him to get sick. 

“Yeah. And scared now. Thanks to you.” He glares at you. 

“Well I don’t want you to catch cold, so we really should head back now.” 

“Wait, you want to swim all the way to shore?” he looks at you quizically with mild disbelief.

You look up at the dock. “Well, that’s like a good six feet above us. You want to climb it?” 

“I guess you’re right.” 

“Look, it’ll take no time at all if you do it the right way.”

He glances at you and raises his signature eyebrow. “The  _ right  _ way?”

“You ever been bodysurfing?” 

“In a sexual way?” 

“No!” You reach over and hit him playfully, but your face flushes. “God, you’re too much sometimes.” 

He giggles. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! No, tell me what it is.” 

“You catch the waves. It’s super simple. All you have to do is wait where they start forming. Then when you feel it pulling you backwards, start swimming. Swimming like crazy. If you do it right, you’ll know, because you’ll start sliding down the face—”

Stephen looks at you wide-eyed. “Yeah I think I’ll take the pier—”

“Nonono! It’s fun! It’s fun, Stephen! Please! After that all you do is put your head down and keep kicking to stay with the wave. You put your arms in front of you like you’re sliding.” 

He looks at you, unsure. “I don’t want to get fucking destroyed by a wave today. I have a show to do on Monday, y’know. And we have a flight tomorrow.” 

“I know, I know. But… listen—when’s the next time you’re going to be able to try something like this?” 

He looks at you for a long time. Then begrudgingly nods. You grin cheekily back at him.

“Probably never, because I’m going to be paralyzed after tonight.”

“I’ll pick up your hospital bill if you do.” You extend your hand as a deal. He takes it, laughing and shaking his head. 

“Okay. Let’s try it then.” 

The first wave you try doesn’t work. At all. Neither of you manage to get ahead of it. The second one rises, and you paddle like hell, but it eventually rolls over. Stephen looks over at you for a moment. You catch his eyes. And there’s this rush in you. And when the next wave comes, you swim faster than you ever have before. You glance back at Stephen, who’s also swimming rapidly. The water pulls you backwards and then quickly up. This is it. 

“Here we go!” you shout as you feel yourself fall down the face, into the forming froth below. The ride takes you all the way in. You manage to kick enough to stay ahead, so you surface quickly and instantly glance around. 

“Fuck.” You don’t see Stephen. “Shit. Fuck. Shit.” Panic grips at your throat. You splash over to your left, scanning the water for him. Then the shore. It’s so dark, his suit jacket would blend in with the black water. “Stephen?!” You feel like you’re about to cry and throw up, in that order. A few feet away, there’s a flash of something white in the surf. You run towards it as fast as the knee-deep water permits. “Stephen. Stephen.” you keep saying his name as you trudge towards him. You lunge for the cloth of what you realize is the lapel of his jacket and haul him up to look into his face. He coughs. He’s alive. “Oh, Jesus.” You grab his shoulders and pull his wet, trembling body towards yours. “Oh my God I have never been happier to see someone before.” He only responds by leaning heavily onto you and coughing. You sort of lead him a few feet so you’re on the shore and collapse on the sand onto your sides. Pulling him to a sitting position by the lapels again, you cup his face in your hands. His skin is cold and wet. “Hey, hey. Are you alright?” A few grains of sand cling to his face just beside his right eye. You gently brush them away with your thumb. He swallows hard and nods. “Oh thank Christ.” You shake your head and pull him into your shoulder for another hug. “Stephen, I thought you’d drowned.” you laugh in bewilderment and relief. 

“I can’t breathe.” he wheezes, and you quickly stop squeezing him, though your hands still rest on his shoulders, unwilling to leave just yet.

“Sorry.” You still can’t help but grin at him. There are curls of his silvery hair matted to his face from the water, and you brush them from his forehead. You immediately realize you’ve gone too far. Your fingers burn from where they grazed his skin. Way too far. _ This can’t happen.  _ “I’m sorry.” you mumble and look at the sand. There’s a long beat of silence as Stephen’s breathing slowly evens. 

“It’s alright.” he says quietly, then adds, “I mean compared to nearly drowning me, that wasn’t the event you had to apologize for.” 

“I feel so bad. Literally. There are rocks in my stomach. Are you positive you’re fine?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Just cold.” He shivers and wraps his arms around himself. You’re wracked with guilt. And a minor fear that he’ll fire you. 

“I guess we should go back.” you say and glance back through the darkness at the massive, gleaming entrance of the hotel. The muffled sounds of jazz music drift from the building. 

“I have to go to my room and dry off.” He coughs again and runs his fingers around his collar, trying to loosen it. “God, these things were not meant for swimming.” He unbuttons the blazer and retrieves his glasses from the inside pocket. He looks down at them in his hands and smiles. “I swear these are like Teflon. They never break.” He slides them onto his face and looks at you, eyes narrowed, lips pursed slightly. “How do I look now?” He flips his hair back, sending a spray of water flying towards your face. 

“Ridiculous.” you laugh. “Your hair is a disaster right now.” 

“Well then I’ll just have to go to my room and fix it. Nothing sounds better than a warm shower right now.” 

You’re embarassed about how upset the idea of the two of you parting ways makes you. “Yeah, of course. I’ll see you on the flight then. Maybe. I uh—I’ll head back to my hotel too.” 

He turns to look at you. “You’re not staying here?” 

“Well, no. I’m not.” 

He tilts his head, causing droplets of salt water to drip onto the sand. “What do you mean? I thought I got all of the staff rooms here. There’s no way that they missed you… I told them to book the exact number—”

“I’m staying at a place a bit further south. I told them not to get a room for me.”

“Why?” 

“I have some old friends who live around. I booked a place nearer to San Diego so they didn’t have to drive as far.” 

“San Diego? No way am I going to let you drive all the way back there dripping wet like that.” He gestures at your clothes. “You’ll freeze to death.” 

You blush and look at your feet. “It’s California, I think I’ll be fine.” 

“Nonsense. Look, you don’t have to accept, but if you’d like, you’re welcome to use the shower in my room.” 

“Oh, Stephen, I can’t possibly…” The mere thought of such an event sends your heart into a tizzy. 

He sighs. “I suppose I’ll let you use a towel too.” You laugh and see that it’s made him grin. His smile seems to light up the area around you. 

“I mean, now that there’s a towel involved, I don’t know if I can refuse.” 

He shrugs. “It’s true. Many have succumbed to an offer following the addition of the esteemed hotel towel.” You giggle and shake your head. 

“I lack the mental self control to refuse a free hotel towel. They’re the perfect blend of soft and stiff” 

A sly smile creeps across his face. “I was gonna make a really bad joke, then decided against it.”

“CBS has ruined you, sir.” 

“What? How dare you! I’ll take away that towel in a heartbeat!”

“No! Oh, God, not that! Anything but that! Please, I’m begging you!” You throw yourself onto the sand at his feet and pretend to sob into the ground. “I’ll do anything,  _ anything _ . Just don’t take away that free hotel towel.” Stephen laughs at your charade. A rush of warmth and pride comes over you. 

“Oh alright. I’ll keep the towel in the deal.” 

“God bless you, Mr. Colbert.” You stagger to your feet and throw your arms around him, hugging him tight. You know you’re technically pretending, but in reality there’s no exaggeration in the way you’re holding him. The two of you remain there for a moment, embracing each other. He rests his head against yours, and your chest tightens. _He's drunk. This is the whiskey—not him._ Your mind tries to rationalize the gesture, but your breathing has already quickened. Then as soon as it started, you feel his arms loosening their grip. Reluctantly, you let go. 

“We ought to head in.” he says, avoiding your eyes for the first time that evening. He digs at the sand with his foot. He seems suddenly shy. His reaction is puzzling. 

You can only nod in response. Your mouth is clamped shut. As you start back to the hotel, some of his usual confidence is restored. You walk side by side, stumbling across the uneven sand, bumping into each other and giggling. Alcohol running through your blood, and salt water running down your faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this thing that I wrote to put off doing actual work! Much appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

You have to sneak around the back of the banquet hall, so as to avoid suspicion from the others. You're both still dripping wet, and your shoes leave small puddles of water with every step you take. As you’re waiting for the elevators, Stephen notices the small bar off to the side—abandoned.

“One second.” He stoops over and shuffles behind the counter. You see his eyes peek out from behind it, and you have to stifle a laugh. Stephen nabs a bottle of rum and comes running back to you, motioning for you to stay quiet. You stab at the elevator button, trying to get it to arrive faster. Selfishly, you hope no one discovers you. Having Stephen all to yourself like this is something that you never want to let go of. He looks over at you, his eyes shining. 

“I haven’t stolen anything since high school.” 

“I haven’t stolen anything since I was in third grade!” This makes him start to giggle. His eyes crinkle up, and seem to fill his face with light. In an effort to contain what would be uproarous laughter, he grabs onto your arm to stop himself from falling to the ground. 

“Shit, Stephen!” you whisper, but his joy is infectious, and you’re starting to lose it too. Thankfully, the elevator dings before you can be discovered. You both run in, Stephen still hanging onto your arm. As the doors close, you can’t help but start to laugh out loud as well. 

“Shhhh!” Stephen tries to quieten you, but he finally lets himself go and you both fall backwards, holding each other, shaking with laughter. 

“Look at… look at this…” he wheezes. Opening the folds of his jacket, you see the bottle of rum tucked between his shoulder and waist. 

“Jesus…” you’re having trouble speaking too, “you—you stole from your own party!” 

He throws his head back against the wall, howling with laughter and it makes a loud smack. As quickly as it started, his laughter turns to cries of pain. “Oh—ow. Fuck. Why did I do that?” 

“Oh my God, are you okay?” You're trying to act as concerned as possible, but the sheer ridiculousness and absurdity of the night is starting to catch up with you. 

He brings his hand up to the back of his head, wincing. “I’ve been better—” 

“Okay, hang on we’ll be there soon.” You can’t help but giggle still. “I mean, Christ, haven’t you been injured enough today?”

“You’d think.” his face still contorted in pain, he drops his head onto your shoulder. 

The gesture makes your heart skip. The elevator stops and the doors slide open. “We gotta go.” You help him to his feet, careful to ensure he doesn’t drop the bottle. Thankfully, the hallway is completely deserted. The only living thing around is a potted plant in the corner. “Which one’s your room?” 

He points to the right. His head is still resting against you, and you’re very aware of its weight and the feeling of his hair brushing against your neck. 

“Keycard?” 

He digs into his pocket and hands you the piece of white plastic. You slip it in and enter the room. A blast of crisp, air-conditioned air greets you and you shiver in your damp clothing. He picks his head up off your shoulder and starts to pull at his jacket sleeves.

“Go to the bathroom and rinse that cut. Do you have ice?” 

He shakes his head, so you grab the bucket and go down the hall. When you return, he’s poured the liquor into two glasses and holds one out to you. 

“Just need ice now.” The smile on his face is so enticing, you want to raise  _ it  _ to your lips and disregard the rum. 

“Right. Of course.” You set the container on the table near the window and drop four ice cubes into both glasses. As he takes a long swig of his drink, you busy yourself crafting a makeshift ice pack for him. “Is it bleeding?” you nod toward his head as you turn around. 

“Dunno. This is really all I need to numb the pain, though.” he raises his glass. You roll your eyes. 

“Ok, Colbert. I’m  _ sure  _ your doctor would love that.”

He downs more of the drink, his face scrunching into a scowl. “Oh, God. Must we discuss health at a time like this?” 

“I thought only politics and religion were off the table, I apologize. I’ll add that one to the list, too. Here, you take this.” You hand him the plastic bag full of ice. 

“Thank you. I wasn't cold enough already." The comment is snarky but he smiles gratefully at you as he holds it to the back of his head. You stand before him awkwardly, trying to keep your eyes from darting around his room and memorizing every inch of his personal space. Stephen only sighs as he flops onto the large bed. You take the seat at the small table and absentmindedly pick up the free pencil and hotel pad lying on the marble. He rolls his head drunkenly over the pillows to look at you. “The Emmys are so useless, you know.” he mumbles. 

“Mmm.” You start to scratch the graphite into the paper. “You’re not just saying that ‘cause you lost, right?” 

“What? Preposterous.” He groans and pulls himself up so he’s sitting against the headboard. 

“I agree.” 

“Yeah?” he’s staring just past your right shoulder, clearly lost in thought. “You know, I kinda always thought I’d have someone to bring to these things.” 

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like a wife?”

He only shrugs in response. “Sure. Anyone.”

You snicker at him. “Losing’s only fun when you can  _ share  _ it with someone.” 

“Oh, come on. You know what I mean. I just get lonely.” 

You chuckle, but don’t look up from the paper. “You? Lonely? Surrounded by all those people screaming your name?” 

“They’re not screaming my name the way I want.” 

That comment rouses your attention. “Excuse me?”

But he doesn’t seem too phased. The rum is clearly setting in, and effectively numbing his reactions. Yours, however, are at an all time high. Alchohol always made you more nervous. 

“You know what I meant.” 

You look directly at him. He’s lit on only one side from the lights of the party,  _ his party,  _ below. His face, framed by hair that was once wet but now sits, half damp, cascading around his ears and curling down onto his forehead gives off a feeling of intimacy. Ultimately it is his eyes, though. Half-open and completely dark, they seem as rich in lust as they are brown. 

Your heart skips in your chest. A feeling that you are  _ greatly  _ impeding on a private moment washes over you. Though it is met only with another equally strong, conflicting feeling that says that you are a part of this event. That maybe it’s just meant to be between the two of you. 

He sighs and slowly rolls over to place the ice pack on the nightstand. You glance up at him, but he’s staring straight at the black TV screen. He starts to pull out the knot in his bowtie. He tugs it from around his neck and it slides down the collar of his shirt. 

He flings it at the chair where he draped his blazer when you first came in. Finally free from the choking white cloth, he massages the back of his neck. His long fingers trailing across his skin, trying to rub the day’s events away. 

You try to focus somehwere else, and turn to the beginnings of a drawing in front of you. You force yourself into translating his face, as daunting as it is appealing, onto the hotel pad. Pulling all of the emotions that you are associating with it and transferring the image into logical, almost scientific lines, has always helped you clear your head of feelings. 

And so you sit in silence, the only sounds in the room the swishing of the ice in his drink as it gradually depletes, and the soft scratch of the pencil on the rough paper. Outside the room, the Los Angeles night is filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and drinking. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

It’s about a half hour in silence, and you’ve just finished the drawing of Stephen on the hotel paper. You feel calmer now that you can see your foolish emotion laid out in front of you. 

_Even desire can be reduced to layers of gray on white._

As you take a shaky breath, you feel ready to tell him that you should probably leave. And then he ruins it. 

“I promised you a shower.” he says. 

“Oh, well, that’s hardly necessary now, Stephen. I mean, I’ve already dried off. Really.” 

“Nonsense. What about that towel?” 

You blush at the mention of the inside joke. And at the idea of showering within ten feet of him, despite being on opposite sides of a wall. He hesitates a moment before speaking again. “I mean, only if you want.” 

“I—” You’re still freezing. And pretty sure that you wouldn’t last in a car all the way to your hotel. “I appreciate that, thank you.” 

He smiles lazily at you. “Knock yourself out. But not really, because I’m gonna shower after you. And I don’t need to deal with an unconscious person.”

You shake your head at him. “Your humor sucks when you’re drunk. And don’t forget that you nearly knocked yourself out cold an hour ago, and I was totally willing to save _your_ life.”

He raises his hands. “Fair enough. The towels are under the sink in there.”

“Thanks, Stephen.” You get up and shuffle shyly over to the bathroom, feeling his eyes tracing your path across the room. You shut the door quietly behind you, leaning against it for a moment and trying to gather yourself before you start _undressing_ in Stephen’s hotel room. The thought sends your heart racing again, and a prickling warmth spreads across your skin. Reaching under the sink, you grab one of the towels and shove your face into it, stifling a scream. 

Cold. Cold water. You start for the tub and move the faucet as little as possible. The water should be coming out half-frozen. It’s the only way you’re going to cool off. Hopefully the shock can pull you out of your lust-filled trance. 

When you step into the shower, you nearly scream again. The frigid water pelts your skin. Instinctively, you reach to turn the knob, but remember your goal: no hot water until Stephen’s out of your mind. 

_Focus on something else._ But all you can picture is his smile in the moonlight, his face as he was being carried up by that wave, his fingers running along his neck.

“Goddamn it.” You turn the knob so it’s no longer freezing. Hot water now starts to soak into your skin, spreading welcome warmth across your body. The same warmth you felt when he told you he missed you at the party. The same warmth you know you’ll feel if he holds you. 

_Shut up. He’s your boss. Your boss!_ The dialogue inside your head continues for the remainder of the shower, and as you wrap yourself in a towel. The endless loop of lust and subsequent reprimanding. You’re about to reach for the doorknob when you realize you have no change of clothes. Shit. Your heart starts hammering and your stomach turns. 

You can’t possibly walk out where Stephen is—dressed only in a towel that barely covers you. In a panic, you grab your jacket off the floor, but it’s much too damp to put back on. You have to come up with something. 

_Just explain the situation to him. He’ll understand._

_Understanding isn’t the issue! Embarrassment is!_

_He loves embarassing himself. He has great respect for people who do that._

_Not when he’s their boss, and they’ve wanted to have sex with him for years!_

There’s a knock on the door. Hesitant. Stephen. 

“Y-yes?” your response, timid and small, fills you with self-loathing. 

“I—I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“Uh—” He’s just trying to be nice. “I’m good." _You have to tell him._ "Well, actually…” 

“What’s wrong?” 

You turn to yourself in the mirror and stare at your wide-eyed reflection. 

_Shit. He’s so sweet and so caring and he just wants to help—but Goddamnit why can't he be more of an ass sometimes?!_

“This is gonna sound ridiculous—” you start, leaning against the sink, unable to meet even your own eyes. 

“That’s okay. I’m a comedian. It’s my job.” The reply nearly causes you to melt. His voice, deep and reassuring, is what finally moves you to tell him the truth. 

“I don’t… have any clothes. I mean _dry_ clothes. Obviously I have clothes I just can’t… wear them…”

You swear you hear him chuckle. “Aw, no problem. I have extra stuff in my suitcase. Hang on and I’ll check.”

“Thanks” is all you can say. Your mouth suddenly very dry at the thought of wearing _his_ clothes. Such an act was normally reserved for someone much closer. And here he was, your boss, your annoyingly handsome _boss_ who was going to hand you his clothing to wear in his hotel room. 

Another knock at the door. “Hey…” Something deep within your chest tightens. The soft tone in his voice nearly drives you to throw the door open and run into his arms. 

“This is all I could find. Sorry, I didn’t know I was packing for two.”

“I’m sure it’s fine! Thank you so much, Stephen.” 

“It’s no problem. How should I…?” 

“Oh! Yeah! Just um… I’ll open the door a crack and you can hand them to me.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the door creaks open and you see his hand, clutching an oversized T shirt and a pair of shorts. You take them from him, but your fingers brush against his and you recoil as fast as possible. 

_Too close. This has all been too close._

Face flushed red, you shut the door and start to get dressed. The T-shirt, probably large on him but massive on you, is navy blue and goes down to just above your knees. There’s not much need for the shorts, considering the lenght of the shirt, but you put them on anyway. Luckily, they have a drawstring and you can pull them relatively tightly around your waist. You glance at your reflection in the mirror. You’re swimming in his clothing, looking about as small as you feel. Your face is still incredibly red. You splash water onto it to try and decrease the blushing. It does little good, though. Every time you breathe, you’re consumed by his scent. Notes of bourbon and cinnamon surround you in a sweet bitterness. It’s driving you crazy. 

_Come on. Go outside and be an adult. Thank him._

Your trembling hand reaches for the handle and you step out into the carpeted hall. 

“Hi.” Stephen is standing right outside and you nearly run him over. In the time that you’ve been in the shower, he’s unbuttoned more of his shirt and his hair is even more unkempt. It looks as if he’s been running his hands nervously through it. The notion of him doing so makes your heart skip.

“Thanks.” you blush again and duck your head to hide your face. 

He gestures awkwardly at your getup. “I’m sorry I didn’t have anything else to offer you.”

“Oh, my God. No, I’m so grateful. And this…” you tug at the shirt, “is actually quite flattering.”

“It brings out your eyes.” The phrase could be taken as a joke, but the serious ring in his voice betrays him. The shock of his compliment forces your mouth shut. “I mean…” he shifts nervously on his feet, “I’m going to shower now.” He steps past you and slips into the bathroom. 

You stand there dumbfounded in the hallway for a long time. The water starts to run behind you. You can’t help but wonder if he’d meant to compliment you. Until now, you'd chalked up his attitude toward you to nothing more than a fluke. Now, he'd upended that entire assumption with a single comment. 

You need a drink. The ice in your glass is nearly all melted, but you down the last bit of rum and pour yourself a double. Your hands still shaking, you sit on the bed and try to get them to stop. 

* * *

When he emerges from the bathroom, you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or not, but you’re stunned into silence by how attractive he looks. The warm shower has given new life to his face, and his hair, brushed neatly but still damp, sends beads of water running down his face that follow his jawline. He’s wearing an old, graphic t-shirt that stops right above his thighs and a pair of boxers. He looks at you for a moment, standing at the foot of the bed. 

He tilts his head, a smile spreading across his face. “What?”

Your brain is sluggish and there’s a beat before you realize he’s talking to you. “Huh?”

He grins and shakes his head. “What are you staring at? Do I have shaving cream on my face?”

“No! It’s perfect!” You try not to stare at him, pantsless, before you. 

He laughs and tosses the hand towel he was carrying onto the chair. “You’re the only one who thinks so. Can I sit with you?” 

Your heart races. You’re leaning, your back against the headboard, very drunk, in your boss’ bed. And now, he wants to _join_ you. You gulp. 

“Sure.” You pull yourself over to the side, as far as you can go without falling off. You refuse to look at him, and instead try to make staring intensely at the wall as nonchalant as possible. You’re worried that another glimpse of him in this state of unprofessionalism will have you confessing your true feelings. 

You feel the bed sink with his weight as he joins you. He sighs as he rests against the stack of pillows that are propped up. Then he turns to you. 

“I’m not _that_ overweight, I don’t need all this room. Scoot in.” 

You shake your head. _Don’t move closer. Stay here. Sleep this off._

“You’re gonna fall off like that.” he says again. You can’t keep ignoring him. He’s given you his _clothes_ and a shower. You're in no place to come off as rude. You oblige, and move in slightly closer to him. You swear you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. Silence. All the lights are off, save in the bathroom, where a soft glow reflects on the wall. 

“Have you ever had anybody?” Stephen’s voice, deep but soft, cuts gently through the quiet. 

“For what?” The question is odd and vague—filled with ample opportunity for you to slip up. 

“To take to one of these things.”

You shake your head stiffly. “No. I mean, I’ve never been to an event like this before… but I’ve never had anyone I’d like to take.” You want to tell him more, about how you’ve woken up every day with the hope that he holds you in his arms and tells you he loves you too. The way that he can make your day with a single smile, and soothe your suffering with a single joke. But you remain quiet, anxiety gripping your tongue and threatening to pull it down your throat. 

“Mmm.” He looks at his hands. They’re often cut up. You’ve never known why.

“Well, what about you?” 

“Nah.” he shakes his head, but his gaze remains low in a way that makes you wonder if he’s trying to keep tears from forming in his eyes.

“I mean… at least the Emmys are annual. There’s always next year.” You’ve never been good at comfort, and glance over at him, wondering if you’re being the least bit helpful. Now it is he who is avoiding your gaze. 

He smiles sadly into his lap and shakes his head vigorously again, inhaling deeply. “I dunno. I don’t know how many more of these I can do. Alone at least.” 

The implications of his statement send you into a panic. You can’t decide if he means no more award ceremonies, no more show, or both. You’ve never heard him talk this way before. The show was his whole life. Maybe that was the problem. You clear your throat, searching for an answer to a question that had none. 

“Well—for what it’s worth… I had a really fun time losing with you tonight.” 

He chuckles, but the movement causes the tears to finally spill out over his eyes. The vibrations from his chest quickly turning to attempts at suppressing sobs. You look over at him, tears sliding down his cheeks, catching the light from the lively street below and leaving glimmering trails down his face. 

“Are you alright?” you ask him softly, resisting the urge to rest your hand on his arm. 

“Yeah, yeah.” he laughs half-heartedly, pulling his glasses off his face and wiping at his eyes. “Sorry, I’m just thinking about how you almost killed me tonight.” 

A sad grin breaks across your face. “See? Maybe there’s something to solitude. When’s the last time you almost died when you did this alone?” 

“Never. I’m not a fan of endangering my own life.” He sets his glasses on the table next to the bed and turns to look at you. The smile on his face is more genuine now, but his eyes are still wet and they glint in the darkness. 

“You know… ” you fidget nervously, unsure of how to pitch this next idea to him, “I have a ton more ideas on how to endanger your life here.” 

“Oh, really? Like what?” 

You shrug. “I guess you’ll just have to come back next year and find out.” 

“Is that a bribe?” 

“Maybe.” You turn to him and offer a cheeky grin. “Who knows? There might even be a free towel in it for you.”

He shakes his head and stares at the ceiling. “You _know_ I can’t resist one of those.”

A light chuckle from him is followed by silence. The room around you stands perfectly still, seemingly waiting for one of you to make a move. 

“Hey,” his rich voice resonates in the quiet, “for what it’s worth, I also had a great time losing with you tonight.” 

The trembling has returned to your hands again; you hadn’t even realized it had gone before. “Really?” 

“Yeah. Losing with you has been infinitely more fun than winning by myself.” 

You’re grateful for the darkness, because your entire face is flushed now. Beside you, Stephen fidgets, making the crisp sheets rustle. You hear him sniff, tears threatening to fall again. 

This time, you do not fight the urge to reach for him. You extend your hands for his shoulders. They come to rest on the soft, worn threads of his shirt. To your surprise, he gives in, taking your hand in his and wrapping your arms around him more. You allow yourself to be pulled closer to him. He shifts so that his back is towards you, pressed into your chest. You immediately notice the warmth that he brings to your skin. You rest your head so that it touches the back of his, his fluffy hair tickling your forehead. 

And you remain there. Lying on the bed, holding each other. Your arms wrapped around him rising and falling ever so slightly with his breathing. A muffled shout, unintelligible from the street below, is the only reminder of the chaos that exists outside. It barely phases you. The only things that are real in this moment are the thrum of his heartbeat and the gentle squeeze of his fingers around yours. 

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

You awake at an undetermined hour, your arms entangled with Stephen’s. In your sleep, you’d turned in towards each other and he’s now holding your hands. His long fingers wrapped around yours. You blink, trying to clear your vision. The light from the window behind you is filtering in through a thin curtain. It casts a gentle yellow glow on Stephen’s face, still asleep. His hair has been fluffed by the pillows, and his mouth is open just slightly. A quiet whistling comes from his lips as he breathes. 

_Oh my God._ Your mind is still sluggish from the alcohol last night, but you are sober enough to understand that waking up next to him is definitely not professional. You have to break away from his grip. 

_Grip? Oh God, no. He’s just holding your hands. So gently. So delicately._

Across from you, Stephen stirs. He blinks several times, trying to clear his vision. The first words out of his mouth, murmured against the sheets, surprise you. 

“What time is it?” You can only stare at him, shocked that his primary reaction wasn’t to jump out of the bed. 

“Uhhhh…I don’t—I don’t know…” 

He sighs, but his hands remain entwined with your own. Instead of turning to check, he drops his head to the pillow again, then smiles. 

“Well as long as it isn’t past noon, we’re alright. That flight’s at three.” He shuts his eyes. 

“Uh, Stephen?” 

“Hmm?”

“I really think we should get up.” He doesn’t respond. A whole minute passes and you’re too afraid to say anything. “I’m serious—”

He groans softly, but does lift his head. As he does so, he pulls his hands from around yours. The gesture, while done delicately, shocks you. Your fingers suddenly feel cold and worthless. Nothing to do without holding his. He sits up and reaches for his glasses that he left on the bedside table. He puts them on, then immediately lifts them to rub his eyes. Despite the crazy thoughts running around your head, you still notice how endearing the moment is. You sit up too, but while he grabs his phone, you just stare ahead at the blank tv. 

You glance at his phone and notice that he’s checking his email. That’s when you lose it. 

“How in the fuck are you NOT freaking out right now?”

He turns to you, eyes wide. Bewilderment plastered across his face, confusion exaggerated by the strands of hair that stick out from sleep. 

“What?”

“I said how are you NOT FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW?!” You jump out of the bed and start pacing up and down the sides. “Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap.” 

“Hey…” his calm demeanor only enrages you more. 

“Jesus, Stephen! We just woke up in the _SAME_ BED! How does that not set off alarms for you?!”

“Listen…”

“No! I don’t want to listen! I’m fucking scared! What does that mean? What does that do to my career? What are people gonna think? Oh my God. Oh My God I can see the tabloid headlines now—” 

“Hey!” It rings out clear against the quiet morning. Silence. You stop pacing, frozen in place. On the street below, a car honks. 

“I’m sorry…” he looks down at his lap. “I—I didn’t mean to yell. But you gotta keep your voice down. Or else the tabloids _will_ have something to write about.” 

You nod, but you can feel tears welling in your eyes. 

“Come here.” He holds out an open arm. You shake your head. The tears drip down your face. You feel ridiculous, breaking down like this in front of him. 

“Come here.” Again. Just as gentle. You try to fight it. He’s already had to deal with you enough, you shouldn’t have to be held like a child by a man you’re only supposed to shake hands with. But his arms look so welcoming, so comforting. And his eyes, framed by his thick lashes, settle patiently on your face. As though he is waiting to ease your pain. 

Self control weakened by your fragile emotional state, you take the offer. Crawling next to him, he pulls your head close to his chest. Close like you did last night. But now the sun is brightening the room, not leaving you in darkness. His shirt, soft against your skin, can’t muffle the beating of his heart. You listen to the rhythm, matching your breathing to it. 

“I’m sorry.” The apology suppressed by the fabric pressed against your mouth. “I’m sorry, Stephen. I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh. No need to apologize. It’s alright. Just calm down now. It’s alright.” He rests his chin atop your head. 

The air conditioner whirs to life to your right. You shiver in the blast of cold air. Immediately, you can feel him pulling you even closer. You’re now curled up in his lap, his arms cradling your small frame. He rubs comforting circles into your shoulder. “Relax. It’ll be okay. I promise.” His voice, deep and reassuring, slowly settles your panicky heart. The room stops spinning, and you begin to notice things around you again, instead of only overwhelming fear.

Although you finally begin to relax, you realize his heartbeat has quickened. “Stephen?” His mere name on your lips calms you even more. He doesn’t say anything back, but his heartbeat responds, faster and heavier now. You can’t decide if you should pick your head up to look at his face, or keep listening to his chest. “Stephen what is—” 

“I love you.” 

The AC unit clicks off. Absolute silence settles around you, seeping deep into the bedsheets and walls. The cool breeze gone, there is nothing to quell the flaming heat that sweeps across your skin at his words. 

“What?” your mouth is completely dry. You’re sure you heard him wrong. 

“I love you.” The same phrase. Your own heart is pounding, but his is almost completely still. He inhales shakily, his lungs sounding hollow through his chest. “I’m sorry.” The break in his voice moves you to pick your head up. You turn to look at him, light shining on his eyes. 

_Not on. Through._

The young daylight streams from the window and meets his eyes, clear and glassy—the color of whiskey. The dark richness from last night has completely dissipated. His gaze now reflects the sunlight onto your face. 

Instinctively, you begin to smile. He continues to look down at you, daybreak tickling your cheeks. 

He’s completely bewildered, wondering if his words have even reached your ears. And then you start to laugh. It starts deep in your lungs but emerges light and free, full of giddiness. 

His eyebrows raise slowly and soon he is laughing, too. His arms trembling with the vibrations. You have laughed a million times in his presence, mostly at things he’s said and done. But this time is different. This doesn’t come from nervousness, confusion, or even humor. 

This comes from joy. Joy that has exploded deep within you, ignited by three, short words that now comes pouring out of your mouth. 

He never lets go of you, both of your bodies interlaced in an absurd spectacle of elation and glee. You are convinced that there is nothing more beautiful than this moment. 

Your laughter eventually dissolves into intermittent giggling. As you come down from the high, you notice the aching in your face from smiling so much. 

His face is still incredibly bright, and he gazes down at you in his arms. You don’t recognize his expression. He’s never worn it before. This look of rich contentment—as if every part of him is full. You get lost looking at him, his features pulling you away from the current reality. 

The quiet returns. In the hallway, the elevator dings and you hear the faint sound of the doors sliding open. You’re reminded of last night. In his eyes, you’re running into the elevator, holding onto each other, tears of laughter sliding down your faces. And you’re glancing back at him in the water as the wave is taking you in to shore. You’re seeing the way his hair looked in the moonlight on the pier. The joyful smile on his face as you chased each other around. 

Now you’re kissing him, and you don’t know when it started, just that you never want it to stop. 

His skin is warm from sleep. Your hands grip the bottom of his shirt and tug it off his body. You run your hands across his chest as he kisses you, your mouth pressed against his, pushing his head back into the stacked pillows. 

You shift so you’re straddling his waist, leaning over him as he sucks gently at your neck. “I’ve waited so long for this” he sighs. His hot breath tickles your skin. 

“You have no idea” you whisper in response. He runs his hands along your back, supporting you as he flips you beneath him. He places both arms on either sides of your head. His hair hangs loosely, curls of the silver and black no longer neatly arranged. He moves down to kiss you again when there’s a light knocking at the door. 

The both of you freeze. Stephen’s lips leave yours, but he doesn’t pull his face away. “Yes?” he asks, his nose still brushing against yours. 

“Stephen?” The voice of the producer is distorted by the thick wooden door. “Hey, man. Everyone’s going to grab breakfast at this place down the street. We planned it last night at the party but no one could find you. Figured I’d stop by and ask now.” 

Stephen’s eyes go wide as he racks his brain for a decent excuse. “Uh, wow, I’d love to but—” You begin to giggle at the sight of him, propping himself up over you, his head tilted towards the door as he tries to make out the muffled sounds with his one good ear. Your faces are still barely an inch apart. 

“I get it. It’s tough on such short notice.” For some reason, the producer’s response only makes you want to laugh harder. Stephen turns so he’s facing you again. 

“Shhh!” He whispers, but he’s starting to laugh too.

There is a confused pause on the other side of the door. “Okay…see you on the flight, Stephen!” You’re biting your tongue at this point, tears forming in your eyes as you try to swallow your laughter. Stephen raises his eyebrows at you and gently presses a finger to your lips, though he’s in danger of breaking himself. His own eyes are scrunching up more and more with every passing second. 

A few moments pass as the producer walks away, and as soon as he’s gone, you and Stephen are grabbing onto each other, shaking with laughter for the second time that morning. 

“Thanks for almost giving us away!” he teases, reaching in to kiss you once more. You meet his lips, enjoying the overwhelming smell of his aftershave that envelops you. 

Coyly, you reach for the pillow to your right, grabbing it and hitting him playfully over the head with it. 

He moves back to look at you. “ _What_ was that for?” he asks, shaking his head in great disbelief. 

“I’m not the one who abandoned my own party last night!” You shrug playfully at him. “No one to blame but yourself for what happened back there.” 

“Why I oughta—” He takes the pillow you hit him with and tosses it at you. Expecting his retaliation, you dodge it easily. It flies into the headboard instead. “This means war.” 

Grinning, you leap out of the bed, running around to the other side to retrieve some pillows that had fallen to the floor. Stephen scrambles to turn around on the mattress, following your path by hurling one after the other unsuccessfully at you. A trail of them now traces your dash across the room. 

“Your aim is awful, Colbert” you tease, raising one over your head before chucking it directly at him. His rising laughter is quickly muffled by the fluffy down feathers. He falls dramatically backwards onto the bed, practically swallowed by the thick, wrinkled sheets. He groans, bringing his hands to rub his face before raising his arm. 

“I surrender!” he wails. You jump to lay next to him, flipping onto your back. The both of you stare at the ceiling. Although you aren’t looking at him, you can feel him next to you. The close proximity automatically raises your heart rate. You remember what his lips felt like against you, the way they'd roused your tired brain. 

_I love you._ His declaration. The one you’d imagined thousands of times in thousands of ways, none of which came close to the feeling of hearing him say it aloud. His deep voice in the still air. That feeling. The weightless joy that finally eased the ever-present strangling fear around your throat. _I love you._ It begins looping in your mind. _I love you._ The weightlessness from before quickly fades. _I love you._ Replaced quickly by a heavy sensation pressing down on your chest. 

You are no longer conscious of Stephen lying next to you. Only of this new constriction that hinders your breathing. _I love you._ It’s unavoidable now, following you deep down the spiral, matching your growing speed. _I love you._ There is no hope, no prospect. It doesn’t matter. He can’t matter to you, and you can’t matter to him. _I love you._ The useless phrase—worse than useless—the limited phrase. Suddenly, you want out. There is none of the imagined freedom from his confession. Maybe if the two of you didn’t work together. Maybe if you’d met and flirted at a bar instead of stealing glances during morning meetings; if he’d written his phone number on a napkin instead of signing off on your paychecks. If only. 

_I love you._ Once your singular source of hope, it’s quickly turning into mangled despair. 

You reach to grab the pillow against the headboard and hug it to your chest, trying to get rid of the numbing ache. 

“Hey,” he finally speaks and brings part of you back into reality, “are you okay?” You both turn onto your sides to stare at each other. His eyebrows quickly draw together when he notices your panic. “What is it?” 

“You can’t love me.” You realize how cliché your answer is. 

“What?” 

“I mean…we can’t _be_ together. Like, the two of us. It doesn’t matter if you love me or not.” 

“Hmm. You’re right” he muses, which shocks you. “It doesn’t matter to me if I love you or not.” 

“Yeah, because we wouldn’t ever be able to tell anyone else or go on dates or—” 

“But it does matter if _you_ love _me_.” 

“Exactly—wait, what?” 

“I don’t really care what I think.” He sighs and blinks slowly at you. Pressed against the bedding, his glasses lay slightly askew on his face. They make him look confused and flustered, but his voice never falters. “How I feel isn’t important to me. But you,” he reaches to brush away the hair that’s fallen onto your face, “what you think about me…that’s everything.” 

You blush at the feeling of his fingers against your skin. “Your theatrics are showing, Colbert.” 

He smiles knowingly at you, understanding that you can’t say it back to him. At least not yet. That’s why when he traces his fingers along your jaw and cups your chin gently in his palm, bringing your face to his, you try to show him instead. When his lips envelop yours, you try to convey his entire meaning to you in the way you bury your hands in his hair. Moving your fingers through it, combing it from hours of sleep. 

He slowly lets you go, his face returning to your field of vision. He’s smiling softly at you. “Nothing can come between that.” 

“You realize there’s _literally_ a pillow between the two of us right now, right?”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Okay, nothing except for that one pillow.” 

You shake your head. “I think reality can slip through, too.” 

“Reality can be altered. I wouldn’t worry too much about reality.”

“I don’t think you know how reality works.” 

He picks his head up and props himself up on his elbows. “I spent nine years of my life lambasting reality. I know all its tricks.” A flicker of nostalgia flashes across his face. “Come on, I’ll prove it to you.” He jumps off the bed and goes to his suitcase, shuffling around until he finds a pair of dark jeans. 

You watch him, unmoving from your place on the mattress. “What? Where are you going?” 

“Where are _we_ going is the question” he corrects, pulling the pants over his legs. 

“Uh…we’re going nowhere. I don’t even have clothes—” 

He looks up as he’s fastening his belt and winks at you. “Oh? But they’re downstairs. I’m going to get them right now.” 

“Stephen,” you drag your hands over your face, “I’m not staying at this hotel. My hotel is like two hours from here. Don’t you remember?” 

“I did. So I got someone to drive down there and pick up your stuff. It’s in the lobby right now.” He tugs a button-down shirt over his arms, running his fingers along the collar. 

You’re confused by the prospect of your clothes somehow arriving at a completely different hotel overnight, and the sight of him getting dressed is distracting in itself. “What? When?”

“Last night. When you were in the shower. I wasn’t going to make you drive all the way back.” His fingers work quickly to fasten the buttons. 

When finished, he turns briefly to look at you. His clothing has drastically changed from last night, but you are still taken by how handsome he is. He always looks smaller without a suit on. His shoulders become more curved, the softness of his stomach no longer hidden behind a stiff blazer. He’s left the top button undone, exposing a small section of his chest, the entire length of his neck free from a constricting tie. “How do I look?” 

“Great” you whisper, your breath taken away by even his simplest of outfits. 

He throws his head back and laughs. “You’re too funny. I’ll be right back with your suitcase. Until then, farewell!” He throws his arm out in a dramatic wave, the other flying to his face. Then he dashes out of the room. The door clicks shut heavily behind him. 

_What a dork._ You smile at his antics. You grab the pillow again, this time hugging it to your chest to dispel the giddy bliss that overloads your brain. The crushing weight has left now. His energy and joy are so infectious, you can hardly remember why you were so worried. There’s something in his voice that automatically bids you listen, no matter how loud your anxious mind gets. Cries that nothing will work, that all of this is hopeless, all of them are silenced when he looks you in the eyes and tells you not to worry. You believe him. 

* * *

A few silent minutes pass and you just sit on the bed, the sunlight from the window pleasantly warming the right side of your body. Against you, his shirt is incredibly soft and you remember how his hands felt trailing up your back as he held you close to him. 

The door swings open at that moment, and Stephen enters, pulling your suitcase behind him. “Well! It seems that the airline has located your luggage! Please let us know if there is anything else we can do for you.” He drops it to the floor right next to his. 

“Oh my God. You actually got it? Wow. Thank you so much.” 

He smiles at you. “No trouble at all.” He stares into your eyes for a moment, trying to absorb the image of you sitting on his bed, bathed in the warm early morning sun. “I—I’ll let you get dressed” he blushes and ducks into the bathroom, leaving you alone. 

Not five seconds pass before he’s shouting again. “Jesus!” 

“What?” you call to him. When he doesn’t reply, you walk over to the bathroom door to see what the big deal is. It’s still open, and Stephen is leaning over the sink, staring wide-eyed at his reflection. 

He turns to you. “I walked out with my hair looking like this?! Why didn’t you _say_ something?” He points vigorously at the mess of curls atop his head. “I look like I just endured a _hurricane._ Do you know how many receptionists were down there?” He grabs the comb sitting next to the sink and starts pulling it through the uncooperative mess. 

“Hey!” You’d enjoyed the way his hair looked that morning. It was unruly, sure, but it framed his face so nicely. You particularly liked the way it flipped around his deaf ear, the longer strands free to curl about it instead of being brushed back. 

“What?” He stops, but the comb remains entangled in his hair, suspended above his forehead. 

“Nothing I just…liked it messy. That’s all.” 

“Sorry.” He seems genuinely remorseful of ruining it now. 

“I’m not _that_ torn up about it. Here—” you reach out to take the comb from his hair, “let me help you.” 

He leans forward, bowing his head slightly down, closer to your height. His hands on his knees, he waits patiently as you work to detangle the mess of hair. You focus on combing the sides first, tucking the longer strands toward the back. That task is surprisingly easy, but combing through the top is harder. It’s practically impossible to make an entire sweep, stubborn curls constantly thwarting your efforts. As you tug gently at a particularly tough section at the front, you notice that he’s looking up at you, a great big smile on his face. 

You laugh. “What?” 

He shrugs, hands leaving his knees for a brief moment. “Oh, I dunno. You’re so focused. It’s amusing.” 

“I mean, I don’t want to fuck up your hair.” 

“You can’t possibly mess it up more than before.” He raises his eyebrows to better look at you from his stooped position. He smiles reassuringly, forcing his cheeks even higher, more pronounced by the downward angle that you see him through. You resist the urge to press your palms against the sides of his face and bring his lips to yours. 

You run the comb through a few more times, pulling the silvery strands up and back. Before it becomes entirely straight, you stop, leaving a bit of a wave to it. 

“Done?” he asks, as you step back from your work. You nod. 

He stands up, looking at himself in the mirror. “That’s fantastic! I love it!” He runs his hands along the sides, eyeing his face from both angles. 

“Really?” You turn the comb nervously in your hands. 

“Yeah. Look, you even made my greys look good!” He points at the particularly prominent streak of silver that’s formed in the largest wave of his hair. You can’t stop staring at it, the way it glints in the bathroom lighting. 

“I think they looked good to begin with.”

He turns away from his reflection to look at you. “Well if that’s the case, now they look _great_. God, I wish I could take you everywhere with me! You make me look so good.” 

“I can’t tell if that was a compliment of me or you.” 

He reaches for you. “That’s because I took a compliment of you and spun it—” He wraps his arms around your waist, picking you effortlessly up off the floor and swinging you around in a tight circle. Your stomach drops for a moment as he does, a small shriek slipping past your lips before he sets you carefully down on the cool tile again, “into a compliment of me.” 

You gaze at him, eyes shining. “You’re awfully talented.” 

He grins in that dazzling movie star kind of way, where his perfectly white teeth shine and his brown eyes gleam. “Why thank you. Now, wouldn’t you like to get dressed? I mean, I understand my clothing is incredibly fashionable, but it’s really not the sort of thing you wear out to breakfast.” 

You blush at the reminder that you’re still dressed in his shirt and shorts. “Yeah, of course.” You turn to retrieve an outfit from your suitcase. Stephen leaves the bathroom to allow you to get changed in peace. 

You find him leaning against the wall, staring at his phone. Two small, blue rectangles are reflected in either lenses of his glasses. When he notices you, he immediately stops scrolling. He looks up and smiles. “How do I look?” you ask, half-joking. 

“Stunning. You match my hair!” 

“Did you just do that double-compliment thing again?” 

“I can’t stop. I see an opportunity, I take it.” He sticks his phone into his back pocket. “Ready to go?” 

“I think so…” you look at his outfit once more, “well…hang on—” You reach for the buttons on his shirt, your fingers suddenly trembling. You aren’t sure how he’s going to take this. You undo the second button down with some difficulty. He’s gone completely quiet. “There.” You smooth the surrounding cloth. He looks down at the extra inch of exposed skin, blushing. “That’s better” you tell him. 

He brings his hand up to your chin, gently guiding your face upward to meet his lips. It’s a soft kiss, fleeting and sweet. Your heart flutters in your chest. When he pulls away to look at you again, you can hardly believe he’s real. You definitely don’t believe that he’s actually touching you, that he truly loves you. 

Then he smiles, and your faith is completely restored. “Ready to go?” he asks again. You nod. He extends his arm out of you to hold. You loop yours through his. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments/feedback are very welcome!


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